Danny Remorseful
by juho69
Summary: There's always someone who cares.


DANNY REMORSEFUL

_I ought to explain that this story is eighth in a sequence, and should be read after Poor Danny, and before The Day After._

"Sir, may I offer you my sincere apologies for what's happened here this evening?"

Jack was speaking to the bar owner. Behind them, the mess caused by the fight was being cleared up. A cleaner was washing the floor and a waitress was tidying the tables. A paramedic had been called and he was giving first aid to the man Danny had attacked.

The bar owner shook his head. "Please don't worry. I've had to deal with it before. It's happened on a few previous occasions. Someone gets upset – they try to hide their hurt in drink - then it all comes out. If you hadn't arrived, I'd probably have intervened myself. Your friend had had at least six double whiskies"

Jack looked directly at the man. He was in his late forties, with brown hair, a thinnish face, a slightly hooked nose and a slightly pointed chin. He looked familiar. Jack frowned slightly.

"I'm sorry – have we met before?"

"Yes, we have, Agent Malone," the man replied. "I'm Derek Trainor. Annie Miller's godfather."

Annie Miller…yes, Jack remembered. The poor girl who was kidnapped and murdered by a work colleague of the father of her best friend – who then tried to silence the second girl by kidnapping her, also. Luckily, Siobhan had been found just in time – but it was one of those cases which haunted Jack still, even after several years. And, he also remembered how so many people, including himself and many in the Missing Persons Department, had thought Derek Trainor to be guilty, and treated him as such…

Jack bit his lip. He hesitated a moment, then asked, sensitively,

"How's Annie's mother?"

"Carol? For the first few years, she went through hell. But you'll be pleased to hear she's now remarried, and has a new baby girl. I'm her godfather, too." He smiled slightly. "Not a day goes by when she doesn't think of Annie – yet at least now she can live in hope."

"And you?"

"As you can see, I've survived. Despite everything."

Jack smiled a little. "A light at the end of a very dark tunnel." Then, returning to business, he continued,

"Here's my card. When you decide to contact the police, just give me a call - "

"No," said Derek Trainor, firmly.

Jack looked surprised.

"No, I won't be calling the police. Or pressing charges. I won't be taking this any further."

Jack tilted his head questioningly.

"It's not for me to pry – but it seems to me your friend's deeply unhappy about something. We've all experienced at some time life's unhappiness."

Jack listened with growing respect. He wondered how on earth he could have thought this man guilty of murder. He put his hand into his inside pocket and withdrew his wallet. From it, he took two hundred dollars' worth of bills. Silently, he held them out to Derek Trainor.

"For all the damage that's been caused," he said simply. When Derek Trainor looked as though he might refuse, Jack added, "Please – take them."

"I am so sorry, sir. Are you all right?"

Martin was talking to the Latino man whom Danny had fought. He was sitting at one of the dining booths, holding two cool-packs to his injuries. Martin noticed his cheek and forehead were swollen and there was a cut below his left eye. He seemed to be in a state of shock.

"What's your name?" Martin asked.

"Gonzalez. Miguel Gonzalez," the man replied. That name rings a bell, thought Martin, but he wasn't going to ponder on it now.

"What exactly happened here?"

Gonzalez seemed genuinely bewildered. "I don't know! I was walking up to the bar with my drink, then your friend nearly falls off his bar stool and knocks me over. My drink spills over him, he shouts at me, he threatens me then he hits me!"

"Did you say anything to him?" queried Martin.

Gonzalez hesitated. "I did say that I was going to report him for being drunk, it was a disgrace and he should control his temper. Okay, maybe I shouldn't have said that– but, hey man, he fell on top of me, spilt the drink over himself and then blamed me!" Gonzalez shook his head. "What was eating him?"

Martin sighed. "He's got problems at home. Oh, I know that's not an excuse – he should never have taken it out on you – but he's very, very unhappy."

Gonzalez was suddenly quiet. It was as if Martin's words had struck a chord within him. Then, he said unexpectedly,

"Have you called the cops?"

Slightly surprised at the question, Martin answered, "No."

"Then please don't, man. If he's unhappy, calling the cops won't make him any happier."

Martin was puzzled – but pleased. He nodded gratefully. He stood up.

"I'll get the paramedic to come and check you over again, Mr. Gonzalez."

After speaking to the paramedic, Martin went over to the booth where Reggie and Joshua were still sitting, nervously and apprehensively.

"Hi there, boys. How're you doing?"

Reggie shrugged. "Not so bad now, thanks."

"We're sure glad you're here," added Joshua.

"Tell me what happened," Martin continued, sitting down in the booth beside the boys.

"Well – I got here around four-thirty to meet Josh, and it was whilst I was waiting that I saw Danny. He was sitting on his own at the bar over there, drinking – and I just had this feeling something wasn't right," Reggie began.

"Yes – you told me as soon as I came in," agreed Joshua, "and then he saw us and came over here. He was really drunk."

Martin nodded, concerned. "Did he say anything to you?"

"Yes; something about how we should never trust women and never get married because they lie to you, cheat on you and dump you. He was pretty loaded."

"Something was very wrong," Joshua commented. "Something, or someone, had really upset him badly."

_If you but knew_, Martin thought. He wrote a few notes in his notebook. "So – how long after this did the fight start?"

"About half-an-hour, I reckon," answered Reggie. "I'm pretty sure Danny was drinking all that time."

Martin continued to write. "Thank-you for that," he stated. He finished and looked up at the two boys. "Is there anything else you can recall, that might be significant?"

"Don't you remember, he kept looking at something, at the bar whilst he was sitting there?" Joshua added. Reggie nodded. "Some cards or something."

"I'll check it out." Martin rose. "Say - thank-you very much, both of you. You did the right thing. Your mom'll be proud of you, Reggie."

Martin walked over to the section of the bar where the boys indicated Danny had been sitting. Sure enough, there were three or four of what looked like business cards, all downturned. Curiously, Martin turned one over and studied it.

What he saw made him stare in horror. He gasped in shock and covered his face with his hand. For a moment, he could not speak; then, he managed to call, "Jack." Jack broke away from his conversation with a female bartender and came over. Silently, Martin showed Jack the cards.

"Oh my God," Jack said. He looked at Martin.

"_Poor Danny._"

"It rather explains everything," commented Martin sadly.

Both men gazed at the forlorn figure sitting alone in the booth behind them. Then, Jack said, "I'll be about five minutes finishing up here – then I'll call a cab."

Martin nodded sadly.

Danny sat on the dining chair, completely numb. He felt cold and was starting to shake. All that had happened that day was starting to sink in and he felt truly, truly devastated.

_I'll be thrown out of the FBI_, he thought, with despairing resignation. _Jack, Vivian_ _and Martin won't want me any more; I won't have any friends. Martin will throw me out on the streets…_

Tears were forming in his eyes. _All I ever wanted to do was to be kind to_ _people_…In his sadness, he was only vaguely aware of someone kneeling down in front of him and looking up into his face with concern and kindness.

"Danny," Martin said gently. Through his tears, all Danny could hear was the kindness in Martin's voice. His heart filled with sudden renewed hope.

"Danny - I'm going to take you home now, buddy."

He squeezed Danny's knee, then rose and opened his arms. Filled with emotion, Danny managed to stand up and went into his friend's embrace. Martin hugged him close and Danny hid his face in Martin's shoulder, never wanting to let go…"It's okay," Martin whispered.

"The cab's on its way," Jack interjected.

Martin and Danny disengaged slightly. Martin, his arms still around Danny like a protective older brother, led him to the door of the diner, to where their cab would soon be waiting.

The cab drew to a halt outside Martin's apartment block. Martin opened the door and, holding and supporting Danny, carefully eased his way out. Standing straight, he attempted to extract his wallet from his inside left pocket.

Jack waved his hand. "Don't worry – I'll pay."

"You sure?"

Jack nodded. "D'you need any help?"

Martin shook his head. "No, it's all right, thanks. I can manage him." He reinforced his grip around Danny's waist and pulled him up closer.

Jack looked at his two junior co-workers. Danny was leaning against Martin, his head nestled on his shoulder. Jack bit his lip. He knew there were times he hadn't been as patient with and sympathetic towards Danny as he should have, and he regretted it deeply. Danny needed a father figure in his life, he should have been it and Jack knew, in that respect, he had let Danny down. However, Jack was reassured by the knowledge that Danny would be looked after by Martin. Martin was the protective elder brother Danny had never had - and Martin seemed be able to get through to Danny in a way nobody else could.

Jack nodded. "All right. Call or text me in the morning. And unless you hear otherwise – you can both stay home tomorrow."

Martin half-smiled. "Many thanks, Jack."

"No worries. It's the least I can do."

Martin helped Danny towards the communal door of the block, into the elevator and up to his apartment. Luckily, there was no-one else around. He unlocked the door, ushered Danny in and sat him down on the sofa, so he could take off his coat. Almost at once, Danny leaned against the back of the sofa and shut his eyes. "No, buddy, don't go to sleep there – let's get you to bed." Martin hung up his coat, walked over to the sofa and almost lifted Danny to his feet. He helped him into his bedroom and eased him down on to the bed. Gently, he took off Danny's coat for him, then his jacket. Then, silently, he walked round the bed, knelt down in front of Danny and looked up at his best friend.

"Can you manage to get ready on your own?" he asked.

He didn't want to leave Danny on his own – but he knew that he needed to give him space. Once Danny began to sober up – and he probably already had – he would start to realise all that had happened that evening and would feel dreadfully awkward and embarrassed.

Danny didn't answer at first. He hadn't spoken since they had rescued him from the bar, and had averted their gaze. Now, however, for the first time, he looked right into Martin's concerned eyes, and he nodded.

Martin placed Danny's jacket on his lap. He reached out and squeezed the top of his arm gently. "Just call me if you need me," he said. He rose and quietly left the room, promising himself that he would call in later when Danny was settled.

Martin made his way to the kitchen, opened the fridge door and poured himself a glass of wine. He ingested it gratefully. He had never seen Danny so angry, so uncontrollable, and it had shaken him to the core.

He decided, after checking his e-mails, that he would go through his pile of correspondence, which had been accumulating on the table for the past week or so, then he would write any letters, which included, he knew, a hand-written thank-you note to his Great-Aunt Jessie, who had recently sent him a new umbrella and gloves. She often called Martin, "her young New English gentleman," something which, secretly, pleased Martin very much.

He answered the e-mails and letters first, deciding he would leave the more pleasurable task of writing to his great-aunt last. They took him about an hour-and-a-half. He got out a notecard and his fountain pen, to begin the letter to his great-aunt. He scribbled the pen on a piece of paper before starting, but no ink came out. He unscrewed the barrel and saw that the cartridge was empty.

Martin rose and went towards his bedroom. He knew where the spare cartridges were: in his stationery drawer. As he walked past the other bedroom, he was aware that the door was ajar and the bedside light was on. He went into his bedroom and found the ink cartridges. Just as he was walking back to the living room, past the spare bedroom door again, a small voice whispered,

"Martin."

Slightly surprised, Martin put his head round the door. Danny was half-sitting up in bed, in his pyjamas. When he saw Martin, he held out his hand tentatively. Martin walked across the room, sat on the bed, took Danny's hand and squeezed it tightly.

"I'm sorry," Danny whimpered.

"Hey." Martin leaned out and brushed a tuft of hair away from Danny's forehead. "There's nothing to be sorry for. Try to sleep."

He leaned across Danny, put his hand under the bedcovers by the wall and, from where he had seen it a few days before, when he had returned some laundry to Danny's room, Martin withdrew a dark brown, rather tattered teddy bear.

Silently, he held it out to Danny. Danny's brown eyes filled with tears.

"What's his name?" Martin asked.

"Bruno," Danny whispered. "I've had him since I was one." He reached out and touched the bear. Some tears ran down the side of his face. Martin could only imagine the times in Danny's life when that teddy bear had been his one lifeline to cling on to.

"Is there anything else you want?" Martin asked gently.

_I want you to stay here with me and hold my hand till I go to sleep,_ was the thought which came into Danny's mind. However, he just couldn't ask Martin that. Martin had already done so much for him. Instead, Danny shook his head and whispered,

"Be all right."

"Are you sure?"

Danny nodded. "Bruno will look after me."

Martin understood. His steady blue eyes looked into Danny's deep brown ones. He gave Danny's hand one final squeeze. Danny turned on to his side with the bear in his arms and Martin tucked the bedcovers round him. He gazed down at his friend and before he knew what he was doing, reached down and ruffled his hair gently. He switched off the light.

" ' Night, brother."

" ' Night."

Martin rose and walked quietly towards the door. When he looked back, he saw a small boy with black hair and sticking-out ears lying in the bed, safe under the covers, his arm wrapped around his most precious possession. He smiled a little; then, softly closed the door.


End file.
